The First Death of Kenny
by Tray Farter
Summary: Why does Kenny McCormick always die? And what do Santa Claus and Satan have to do about it?


**The First Death of Kenny  
**by: Tray Farter

_Warning: This fanfiction contains obscene language and sexual themes._

_Author's note: This fanfiction has been edited to meet FFnet rules and regulations. To see the original Rated M version of this fanfiction, please visit my website (link is found in my FFnet profile. "The First Death of Kenny" is the first in a series entitled "South Park: Season Zero")._

Part 1

One snowy evening, a red sleigh pulled by nine magical reindeer zoomed through the sky amidst the strains of "Jingle Bells" floating in the air. Its jolly fat driver, Santa Claus, had already done his deed for the year, and was headed home. The sleigh flew among mountain crags, through the heavy snow, until it came to a grand white castle on the top of the highest mountain. Santa Claus parked, then excitedly came down from his sleigh.

He dipped his hand into his baggy red pants. He took a couple of pills, then slammed a fistful of snow into his mouth and swallowed. Feeling hot and macho, he grinned and marched his way to his bedroom to make love to his sexy young wife.

He twisted the doorknob and pushed, forcing the bedroom door open. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm ho-ho-holy shit!" He froze on his feet and stared in shock.

Satan was in his bed with his beautiful blond wife.

"Sweet. Mother. Of. Shit," muttered Santa Claus.

* * *

Three months later, while Santa Claus toiled in his workshop, Mrs. Claus and Satan made love in the grand bedroom. Between kisses, they held a conversation. Satan said, "I'm glad your husband forgave you."

"Yeah, he did," Mrs. Claus replied. "All I had to do was promise that I'll be a good girl and never have sex with anyone except him."

"But we're still having an affair--"

"Who cares about that wrinkled old pig? As long as I don't get caught, it's fine. Mmm... you're the best lover ever!"

Satan sighed. "Are you and Saddam Hussein related in any way?"

Mrs. Claus paused to think. "Well, we were, for a short time... he was pretty good in bed, too. But he's no match compared to you, baby." She bent down to give Satan a French kiss.

When they were already too tired, they lay on bed and rested. While they embraced, Mrs. Claus suddenly said, "Baby, I'm pregnant."

"Oh, good," Satan murmured sleepily, "congratulations. You and the big guy are finally havin' a family."

Mrs. Claus wrestled her lover playfully with pillows. "No, stupid. I mean, I'm pregnant with _your_ baby."

"Oh, good, you're-- what?!" Satan almost jumped off his skin in utter disbelief.

"Uh-huh."

"There-- there must be some mistake! This cannot happen!"

"And it did."

"But I thought you were on the pill."

"Yeah. I _was_." Mrs. Claus pouted. "I've always wanted to have a baby."

"Gee, thanks, woman!" Satan growled sarcastically. He threw off the blanket, spun from the bed and began to put on his pants.

"Wait, baby! Where are you going?"

Satan rolled his eyes. "To Hell. Where else? Just pass off the kid as the old man's," he replied indifferently, "and everyone's happy!" With a snap of his fingers and the stench of brimstone, he disappeared. Mrs. Claus was left staring at where Satan last was.

"My husband had a vasectomy," she finally said.

From a hidden corner of the room, a pair of eyes watched her every move--

* * *

Later that night, Santa Claus softly walked up to his bedroom. He mentally reviewed all the techniques he had learned from the Internet. He had taken five magical blue pills tonight, and he was prepared to give Mrs. Claus the best night ever.

_After tonight, she will forget all about that dastardly no-good Satan_, he happily mused.

He forced the door open. "Ho-ho-ho, sweetheart, get ready for some ho-ho-hot loving!"

Mrs. Claus wasn't there. Santa called for his wife, and called for her again. He searched under the bed, inside the closet, behind the picture frames... but Mrs. Claus was nowhere to be found. Santa panicked. "Sweetheart?!" he yelled. "Listen, if you're playing hide-and-seek, I concede, you win. Now, why don't you show your pretty little face here?! Hey!!!"

From the open window, a strong gust of freezing winter air blew into the room. Santa shivered and briefly contemplated moving to California while he locked the windows shut. He heard a patter of feet from behind him, and he grinned.

He undid the buttons of his coat, suddenly spun about-face and exclaimed, "Aha! Gotcha, sweetheart," pulling open his coat and baring his hairy birthday suit.

"Ahhh!!! Don't rape me!!! Don't rape me!!!"

A tiny figure cowered in the darkness. Santa quickly pulled his coat over his nakedness. "Nightie!" he gasped, startled at the presence of a worker elf in his bedroom, "what the hell are you doing here? And why are you coated in all that white goo?"

Nightie skipped the question. "Your wife and Satan met up today." Clearing his throat, he continued, "and they had sex."

"What?! That philandering no-good bitch! I will tear her to pieces when I get my hands on her!" Santa slumped on the bed and sobbed. "Now what am I gonna do?"

Nightie crawled up to Santa's knee and began his service. Santa gasped. "Ohh... you are good, Nightie."

"Why, thank you, sir," quipped the worker elf. "By the way, your wife is pregnant."

"What?!"

"And the father is Satan."

"Holy shit!"

"And she jumped out of the window."

"Oh my God! Is she dead?"

"Fortunately, she is safe. She used a blanket for a parachute."

"Dammit!!! And I thought I would save on alimony..." Santa gave Nightie a kiss. "Damn, that was some good stuff, Nightie. Good stuff..."

The worker elf grinned. "Well, there's no such thing as free lunch, sir..."

"You're right. Okay, starting tomorrow, you pay for your own lunch."

"Bull crap."

* * *

The halls were dark, damp and cold. A solitary figure bravely traversed the long stone passageways with nothing but the flame of a tiny candle. He held a gray package very tightly in his arms. Uneasily, he glanced about, watchful for any vengeful souls that might come out and drag him into the depths of hell. Slowly, he opened an old creaky wooden door, then quickly slipped into a large stone chamber fully lit with candlelight.

Deep beneath the Arctic castle lay the dungeons. Here, elves, reindeer and humans alike were tortured into "transforming from naughty to nice" by none other than Santa Claus himself. Most did not survive.

Tonight, the dungeons did not serve Santa's sadistic fantasies. The old man was too exhausted, and lay deeply asleep in his warm bedchambers. Exactly as _they_ had planned him to be.

"Nightie," an elderly elf greeted the newcomer. "Done exceedingly well, you have. Sense it I can."

"Yeah, whatever, Yowda," Nightie grumbled through his bubblegum. "I had to crank a mummified shaft while you cowards waited for my return. And I didn't even get a salary raise, _and_ I lost my lunch subsidy. Geez."

"So true it is," said the one called Yowda, "that pregnant Mrs. Claus is with Devil-child?" The entire congregation of worker elves gasped. Nightie nodded, "Yup."

"Oh my God! It's the end of the world!" exclaimed one elf.

"What do we do? Oh, holy shit, what do we do?!" screamed another.

The entire congregation instantly turned into a noisy mass of panicking lily-livered pansies. The one called Yowda tried to calm the crowd, but had to scramble for a safe place to avoid stampede. Nightie assessed that if they weren't buried as far beneath as they were now, they would be discovered and sent to the cauldrons of boiling oil. Nightie shoved his fingers into his mouth and blew a loud whistle.

"Will all of you please calm down?!" he yelled at the top of his voice. Every worker elf stopped running around and shut up.

"Thank you," said Nightie. "Now sit down and listen." The crowd did as was told. Nightie unwrapped the package. It was a heavy book bound in black hardcover embossed with strange gold writings. The entire congregation ooh-ed and aah-ed in awe.

"Er, what is that book?" said one worker elf.

"Witchcraft: Witcheries for a Changing World!" Nightie announced in a deep dark voice. "It took me ages to find this book from the Claus archive of forbidden items, but, now, its power is mine-- ours to have. And, with it, we shall kill the Devil-child! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

"And what if the Devil-child is revived by the powers that be?" asked another elf.

"Elementary, my dear colleagues," Nightie replied. His smile curved upwards into an evil grin. "We shall kill him again, and again, and again..."

_(to be continued)_

* * *

_Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on South Park. South Park is the property of Trey Parker and Matt Stone. This fanfiction was created solely for entertainment purposes, and no monetary and/or material profit was gained from doing so._


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